on the topic of hookers and blow.

My best client right now is a young, attractive, coked-out, wall street millionaire who pays a dollar per message for the dubious luxury of speaking to me.

It's funny, or maybe sad, but his life looks exactly like what I dreamed of when I was sixteen years old.

I don't know for certain which one of us is most unhappy but I have the creeping suspicion that it's him.

He's still racing against the clock, gambling that the expensive drugs and meaningless sex can prop him up, just for long enough to make his millions. It's not a race that can be won.

I know he'd fly me out to New York and I could live out my debaucherous teenage fantasies in brilliant technicolor but I already know the glorious freedom of losing that race.

I used to be so jealous of people for whom the drugs kept working but, I'm not anymore.

No addict gets sober before their world falls down around them, and in AA they say "I wish you all the pain necessary".

I went through hell, hard and fast and young, it looked like self-destruction, overdoses, and suicide attempts but, it was a blessing.

I'm the lucky one.